


Strike! Thrust!

by alreadysomeone



Series: Boom! Boom! [2]
Category: JAG (TV 1995)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alreadysomeone/pseuds/alreadysomeone
Summary: Mac's POC of a Labor Day charity bowling tournament - starring the JAG gang, Mac, and Webb with his own ball and shoes.  This is a follow-up to my fic “Boom! Thrust!” wherein Mac and Webb unexpectedly meet up on the Fourth of July and create some fireworks of their own.
Relationships: Sarah MacKenzie/Clayton Webb
Series: Boom! Boom! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982134





	Strike! Thrust!

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Boom! Boom! series:  
> Boom! Thrust!  
> Strike! Thrust!  
> Stamp! Thrust!  
> Gobble! Thrust!  
> Boum! Pousser!
> 
> Timeline: Through the end of Season Seven.

Labor Day, 2002  
Arlington Lanes Bowling Alley  
1920

I'm bowling really well tonight. I haven’t set foot in a bowling alley in years, but I’m a natural athlete so picking it up again isn’t a problem.

“Damn it.”

Okay, so I’m not doing that well. We’re still warming up but that was my second gutter ball of the night. Maybe I need to re-think that “natural athlete” thing.

This year the Navy/Marine Corps Relief Society’s annual fundraiser is a bowling tournament. And the 20-lane alley is filled with teams from the Pentagon, Naval Intelligence, Bethesda, the Inspector General’s office, the Joint Chiefs’ offices, the Academy, and JAG.

Making up the JAG team is the Admiral – team captain of course, Tiner, Harriet, Sturgis, Harm, and myself. Bud’s here and although he’s gaining confidence on his new prosthesis, he isn't quite up to bowling yet. But he's cheering us on, especially Harriet.

The Inspector General’s office wanted Harriet to bowl with them. They apparently know what a good bowler she is. But after a few rounds with the Inspector General himself, the Admiral prevailed and she’s playing for us.

As with most things in the military, this isn’t just about a friendly game of ten-pin or raising money for charity – it’s a cut-throat competition. And this year it’s especially fierce. Ever since we were solidly trounced at the Relief Society’s basketball fundraiser last year, the Admiral has been chomping at the bit for revenge.

Unfortunately, it's becoming painfully clear that we're going to get our butts beat again this year. The other teams seem to either have had time to practice - never mind the fact that we’re supposed to be at war - or they’ve brought in ringers. There's even a guy with the Bethesda team who brought his own shoes, ball, ball cloth, and wrist brace. How nerdy.

In spite of the rivalries, I’m having a good time. There's something just silly and fun about bowling. Everyone has to wear the stupid shoes, even if they are a two-star Admiral, and the whole place smells like french fries, the wax on the lanes, and the sanitizer stuff they spray in the shoes.

Plus, bowling is a surprisingly engrossing sport. When you’re inside a bowling alley, it could be a roasting 100 degrees outside, but from the inside you’d never even know if there were a freak summer blizzard going on.

The sound of the balls rolling, the crash of the pins, and the automatic pin-setter machines doing their thing all contribute to the consuming atmosphere. And of course, there’s the obligatory outdated music. Right now they’re playing Captain and Tennille and earlier I thought I heard the Bay City Rollers.

I look over just as Harm manages to pick up another spare. Between he and Harriet, we might not look too foolish tonight. Although the high leg kick Harm does at the end of his throw might make us the laughing stock yet. I’ll have to turn away on his frames so I don’t burst into giggles.

“Mac, you’re up.”

“Thanks Harm.”

I stand and find my ball, the blue glittery one I'd picked out earlier. Lining myself up I picture the bowling pros and attempt the leg slide. I only knock down two pins.

Going for brute strength on the second throw I end up practically knocking the one and only pin I hit into the next lane. The SecNav gives me a dirty look and I try a coy smile to ease his temper.

I sit back down on one of the molded orange and white plastic chairs and joke around with Harriet and Bud until the Admiral clears his throat.

“Okay people, I know we had a tough time last year. And from what I’ve seen so far - Harriet aside - you are all pathetic excuses for bowlers. Lucky for your careers I’ve recruited a ringer to help you out this evening. And it looks like they've just arrived."

"Please don't be Singer..." I turn and exaggeratedly mouth to Harriet. The look on her face tells me it's not Singer and I'm completely at a loss as to who our "secret weapon" could be.

“Mr. Webb, you bowl?” Tiner pipes up amid the stunned silence of our group.

I jerk my head up and around to find myself looking into the face of Clayton Webb.

"Happy Labor Day, Colonel.” There’s sarcasm in his tone, but there’s also an underlying warmth and I’m caught off guard.

"Same to you," I fumble before the Admiral grabs Clay’s arm to begin strategizing, the thrill of victory just in his reach.

I haven’t seen Clay since the Fourth of July. An evening that began with a coincidental meeting, but ended in a meeting of another kind entirely.

In truth, I’d had an enjoyable evening at his mother’s party, and afterwards too. I just hadn’t guessed that I’d find myself in that kind of situation with Clay Webb. Not that I haven’t found him sexy in his three-piece suit way all these years. We’d just never been in a situation that allowed us to feel whatever attraction there’d been between us.

After the Fourth I was reluctant to call or make contact. I knew I would’ve been disappointed if we had talked and Clay was cold to me, or simply not interested in pursuing anything further. But I also wasn’t sure what direction I wanted to follow with him, if any.

So I let the incident get further and further in the past. And until now, seeing him here and hearing his voice, it was almost like it’d never happened. Not that I hadn’t harnessed the memories for the occasional late-night fantasy, mind you.

I train my gaze back to where Clay is still talking with the Admiral. He's holding a bowling ball bag and wearing loose khaki pants with a white polo shirt. He looks like he's stepped right out of some Sunday afternoon Wide World of Bowling sporting event on ESPN 2, or maybe ESPN 5. Only better. A lot better.

The pants conform to his hips and butt in the most appealing way before hanging freely around his thighs and legs. And I know that brewing just beneath that smug, sardonic, and apparently good-bowler exterior is a simmering sexual being, aching to be released.

God, speaking of aching. I’m beginning to ache a bit myself with the sexual interest he’s piqued in me just by standing there.

"Another hidden talent, Webb?" Harm bitterly throws in Clay’s direction.

There's a challenge in his voice and I watch Clay turn from the Admiral to face Harm, ready to oblige him in this battle of egos; each man sure he’ll win out for the alpha position among the pack this evening.

I’d love to watch this unfold but darn it, I can't help myself, "Webb truly is full of hidden talents, aren't you?"

He's facing Harm, but when I speak Clay turns his head ever so slowly to treat me to a sly grin. He knows exactly what I'm talking about and I smile openly at him in return. Poor Harm just stands there, his brow furrowing in puzzlement.

Our strange triangle, which was quickly becoming a twosome of me and Clay gladly leaving behind a confused Harm, is interrupted by an announcement.

Cutting into the middle of “Copacabana” over the PA, the SecNav’s wife congratulates us on the money raised and gives us the 2-minute warning before the tournament begins.

Harriet hustles me off to the ladies’ room for a fast bathroom break and when I glance back, Harm’s occupied with Sturgis, and Clay’s taken a seat to change into his brown and white saddle-style bowling shoes.

As the tournament really gets under way, the Admiral coaches each of us before we take our turns, except for Clay. We all just stand back and watch as he throws strike after strike.

As the game proceeds I find that most of the people are so distracted by tallying scores or watching whoever’s up, that I’m free to watch Clay unnoticed.

I love the way he moves. His strong grip on the ball exerts the right amount of force and spin, giving each throw just the right touch to guide the ball where he wants. And he watches with steely concentration as it makes contact with the pins.

I’m a little self-conscious as I bowl, suspecting that Clay’s watching my rear as I’ve been eyeing his, and knowing that the Admiral’s not too pleased with my performance tonight.

After managing a fair showing on my fourth frame, I sit down next to Clay who immediately invades my personal space to say quietly, “Nice ass” as he gets up in one fluid motion.

Picking out his ball from the automatic ball-returner, he angles his head back to catch my eye as he polishes it with a rag, running his hands lovingly over the smooth surface.

I slowly lick my lips meeting the challenge he appears to be issuing. Damn, I wish I’d worn a dress. Then I could up the ante with a little leg crossing and uncrossing. Plus, while not practical for bowling, a dress is a hell of a lot easier for what I’ve got in mind than the camel colored pants and boat neck top I've got on.

Tiner steps between us to take his turn, for the moment preventing any escalation of the exchange between Clay and me. But in a few minutes, after Clay completes yet another strike - damn the guy’s good - he seats himself next to me again.

“Sar…Mac.”

Before continuing softly, Clay glances around to be sure no one overheard him start to call me Sarah. “Before things get out of hand - and believe me, I’m all in favor of that - I want to apologize for not calling you. I was out of the country. And if that’s not a good excuse for not making the ‘morning after’ call, I don’t know what is.”

I’m impressed with his honesty and am glad that aside from the banter, there’s no evidence of any tension between us. There’s also affection in his voice and I feel a warmth wash over me that’s more than sexual.

In a coordinated motion, we patiently follow Sturgis’ form as he walks past us. As soon as he’s past I reply, “Well, it sure beats a lame ‘I was busy.’ And even though we know how ‘liberated’ I can be, I didn’t exactly follow up either.”

“While my mother would approve of your modern attitude, she’d still scold me for not being a gentleman.”

“But what would she say about my underwear ending up in her trash and the side of her pool house being defiled in such a way?”

We suppress our giggles as the Admiral busts us like kids caught talking in class.

“Mac?” He’s giving me a funny look and I think I’m blushing.

“Yes sir?”

“Your turn,” he says curtly.

As I throw my ball down the lane, I’m sure to give an extra butt-wiggle for Clay’s benefit. Completing my first strike of the night, I wonder if flirting improves your game.

It’s clear however, that even Harm’s passable game, Harriet’s spares, and Clay’s skilled throws can’t save us from losing. The Admiral is about to explode from frustration when it’s announced that even though we’ll come in last place, the JAG staff raised the most money for the Relief Society.

The Admiral’s mood does a 180 and he congratulates us all on a great game. Though, he warns that next year he expects us to raise top dollar *and* win the tournament. Which, we are informed, will either be ice hockey, swimming, or billiards.

I laugh at the prospect of the JAG staff trying to play hockey and catch Clay’s eye as I ponder how he’d look in skates. Hmm, I wouldn’t mind doing some “checking” with him.

He smiles at me in a way that makes my stomach jump. And noticing the way he’s flexing and articulating his fingers over the air blower on the ball return machine, my mouth goes dry, the moisture clearly flowing elsewhere in my body.

As the SecNav finishes up his speech on the intercom, the music resumes with “Let’s Get it On.” Clay and I smile at each other and he nods at me with the same subtlety he’d used at the Afghani detention camp.

My thoughts exactly.

The tournament is officially over but most of the teams, including ours are staying for beer, snacks, and more bowling. Clay excuses himself and heads in the direction of the restaurant. I wait what feels like an age before following him.

It’s silly really, we’re consenting adults. But a relationship with Clay, no matter how casual, is not something I’d like to advertise to my co-workers. Besides, all this covert stuff is kind of a turn-on.

“Sarah.”

Clay comes out from the hallway that leads to the restrooms. We step around the corner into a small room filled with video games and an ancient popcorn machine that smells like burnt kernels.

Immediately we kiss and press into one another, leaning up against the Ms. Pac-Man game, which continues to beep and chirp behind us. Our tongues are moving fast with mouths and lips working at one another in a kiss that releases some of the tension that’d built up over the evening.

“You’re a really sexy bowler Clay. I thought I was going to have to grab your butt right there in the lane,” I say, out of breath.

He laughs easily and I swear he’s blushing, although it could be the red glow from all the arcade games.

“The Admiral wouldn’t have been pleased with clothes flying instead of pins.”

“Speaking of flying clothes…”

I leave the suggestion hanging in the air and don’t have to wait long for Clay to get the hint.  
He takes my hand and, pulling me through the restaurant, leads me back to the entrance. He peers out into the bowling alley and I lean against him to look over his shoulder, assessing the situation for myself.

“Mostly men, wouldn’t you say?”

“My exact thoughts.” He reaches back to embrace me with the hand that’s still holding mine, and pulls me closer.

We stand there rocking back and forth for a moment, joined that way. It’s not exactly sexual, but it’s intimate. We quietly soak up each other’s presence before resuming our pursuit of the other needs we’re feeling.

When we break contact, I take him directly down the hall and into the women’s room. Clay hesitates, pulling on my arm as we enter; luckily it’s vacant. I look hopefully at the door, but there’s no lock. So I proceed to the next best thing. The handicapped stall.

Clay follows me and locks the door behind us. I can still hear the noise from the lanes: balls rolling, pins falling, and music playing.

While Clay’s fiddling with the lock - ensuring, I assume, that it’s secure - I grab his well-formed rear and squeeze the muscles deliberately. In reaction, he rests his hands on the lock and stands still.

Clay is apparently enjoying the attention so I lean in closer and wander one hand around to the front of his pants. Reaching down as far as I can, I slide my hand up the inseam to his crotch. When I get to his growing erection, Clay lets his head fall against the stall door with a thud.

I laugh lightly, smiling into the soft cotton of his shirt as I rest my head on his back, inhaling his scent - sweat, bowling alley, and *him*. I continue my caresses, and feel him get stiffer under my touch.

Unfastening his belt buckle, pants button, and zipper, I reach into his boxers and straighten out his erection. Stroking him softly we again begin to sway back and forth as we did earlier.

“You keep that up and you’re not going to get much attention yourself Sarah,” he says softly.

The affection in his voice I’d sensed earlier is unmistakable now, and my heart beats faster hearing my name on his lips that way.

“I’m a patient woman; I’m sure I’ll get my turn.”

“Is that why you hustled me into the bathroom of a bowling alley instead of waiting to see if I’d invite you over to my place?” The saucy playfulness in his tone returns us to more familiar territory.

“I did consider that, but driving someplace seemed like too much work, and this is Labor Day. We’re not supposed to be laboring, you know.”

“You’re working me pretty well right now.”

With that, Clay turns around, grabs my waist, and pulls me into a kiss. This kiss lingers in time and the urgency we’d shown in the arcade is gone. Now there’s a searching, probing, and exploration in the way we’re kissing.

There’s a knock on the door and we jerk apart, freezing in wide-eyed surprise.

“Cleaning crew. Is anyone in there?”

“Just a few minutes please!” I yell.

We try to stay quiet as we laugh nervously at the situation. I immediately stop my amusement as Clay assaults my mouth in a hard kiss. Either the danger of getting caught really turned him on or he took my “few minutes” seriously.

Either way, the intensity and fervor of his kisses and touches are exciting me too. I’m panting with desire as he kisses my neck and reaches under my shirt to grasp at my breasts and squeeze my nipples.

His pants are still half way down his legs and soon he’s working on mine. I help him with the zipper and as I slide my slacks and panties down, he grabs my hips and turns me around.

“I think this’ll work,” he assesses.

“Oh yeah.” I kick off my left bowling shoe and step that leg out of my pants and underwear.

Clay bends me forward and reaches around me to touch my curls and reach his fingers towards my wetness. I lean farther over and grab the handicapped railing along the wall to steady myself.

With better access, Clay plunges a finger into me and I’m sure he can tell that I’m ready for him. He emits a low groan when I angle my hips up and back in invitation.

He guides his erection slowly into me, allowing us both to adjust to the position and feeling. Once he’s all the way in, Clay firmly holds onto the fleshy part of my hips and starts to thrust.

In less than a minute he’s panting hard. I reach for one of his hands and bring it over my sex. I move his fingers in circles there until he picks up the rhythm, adding his own touches to the pace. Within seconds I’m coming and when the contractions have subsided, Clay resumes his double grasp on my hips and plunges hard into me twice more before coming.

I’m light headed as I stand up, so I sit ungracefully down on the most convenient thing. The toilet.

“Um, should I leave?”

“Just catching my breath. That was a hell of a ride you just took me for.”

“You complaining?”

“Not at all. But we’ve really got to try this in a bed sometime.”

It’s the first we’ve mentioned anything about a “next time” and as the words leave my mouth I’m nervous about how the notion might sound to him.

“Novel idea. When's the next national holiday?”

His answer is non-committal, but he’s smirking as he unrolls yards and yards of toilet paper to dab and mop himself up. I laugh at the scene and stand to do the same for myself, relieved at the continued ease between us.

We toss the soiled tissue in the toilet and flush it away. Tucking ourselves back in, I re-tie my shoe, and we’re ready to leave. If only we can make an exit without notice.

I lead the way, but before I can scope out the scene in the hallway, Clay steps in front of me, opens the door, and steps out.

I’m stunned for a second before I realize what he’s doing. Stepping briskly into the hallway, I see that he’s run directly into Harm. Silently thanking Clay for his brilliant plan, I feign shock.

“Webb! This is the women’s room, and unless there’s some CIA secret you haven’t shared with us, I think you want the ‘little spy’s room’ down the hall.”

I make a show of rolling my eyes at Harm as I head back to the lanes.

“Where’d you go Mac? The Admiral wants to buy everyone pizza, you up for it?”

“Just taking care of some business in the ladies’ room.”

Harm and I walk back to the JAG group where everyone’s putting their own shoes back on and preparing to move into the restaurant. As I’m walking to the counter to turn in my bowling shoes, I hear the Admiral calling Clay.

“Webb, you were our star player tonight. Why don’t you join us for dinner?”

“Thanks Admiral, but I’ve got an early flight to catch.” He’s got his bowling gear in hand, ready to depart.

I’m relieved that Clay and I weren’t caught, but find that I’m disappointed we won’t be spending the rest of the evening together.

“Colonel,” Clay calls loudly as he approaches me on his way to the exit.

When he gets closer Clay continues, his voice low enough not to be overheard. “National holiday or no, I’d love to get you into my bed next time,” he says as he brushes past me.

END


End file.
